Part 5

One morning early, while the gray And sleeping mist on the river lay, Ere yet the sun from his ocean bed Had tinged the distant hills with red, In quest of game Sir John had gone Far down the river vale alone; And standing on a gentle height He view’d the silver winding James-- What vision glances on his sight? What sudden fire his cheek inflames? Is that a sail? Is that a ship, Glides slowly round the headland dim? With straining eye and parted lip, He breathless stands, with moveless limb, And throws his eager look afar, Like the quick shooting of a star. A sail? a ship? He looks again-- It is, it is--he sees it plain; He sees the sails, he sees the hull, An English flag at mast-head flies: And now his throbbing heart is full, And tears are crowding to his eyes; Those eyes which had not known a tear, Before this hour, for many a year.

III.

With a light heart, and step as light, He soon retraced his homeward route, And there the ship was full in sight, And all the colonists were out And gazing off upon the river. With pious thankfulness some lift Their eyes and hands to the great Giver Of every good and perfect gift; Some, wild with joy, run here and there, Grasping each other’s eager hand; Some with quick motion beat the air, And some like moveless statues stand. Slowly the ship comes sailing on, And now she rides abreast the town; The sailors up the shrouds have gone, The ponderous anchor plunges down, And curbs her gently to the breeze, Like a proud steed that feels the bit; And now she heads the rippling seas, And her furling sails on the long yards flit. A light boat launches from the shore, Each oarsman nimbly plies his oar Across the waters, bright and clear. The tall ship rapidly they near, And soon, half lost to view, they glide To the deep shadow of her side, Where the rocking boat seems but a speck; Man after man mounts to the deck, And here Sir John with joyous smile Greets Newport from Britannia’s isle.

IV.

A thousand questions now are ask’d, And a thousand answers given; Sir John tells how with savages, And famine, he has striven; How in his light and open barge, With scarce a dozen men, He had scour’d the mighty Chesapeake, Round all her shores had been, And up the rivers from the bay To where the waters fall, And seen the wild and warlike tribes, And dared the power of all.

V.

Then Captain Newport told what joy King James’s heart had known, That such a goodly land as this Was added to his throne; And that to make the savage tribes With English power content, To their great chieftain, Powhatan, King James by him had sent Rich, royal presents, such as kings Of power and dignity Might to a royal brother make; Gold rings, rich cutlery, A robe of state of finest woof And of a scarlet red, And a sparkling crown thick-set with gems, Fit for a monarch’s head. And as the kings had worn no crowns As yet in this new land, It was King James’s special will, And thus he gave command, That Captain Newport and Sir John This kingly crown should see Placed on the head of Powhatan With due solemnity. Now on the shore in merry bands Light-hearted sailors roam, And listening ears of colonists Are fill’d with news from home.

VI.

The council-hall of Powhatan In quietness was closed; And in his warmer winter lodge The aged chief reposed: And when the piercing northwest wind The crevices came through, He closer drew his robe of fur, And fed his fire anew. And when upon his cabin wall His glowing fire grew bright, And brighter still, betokening The coming on of night, The monarch took his usual round Through hall and lodge and yard, To see that all was well secured, And set his nightly guard. First to the east and then the west He glanced his restless eye, The trees were rocking in the wind, Dark clouds were in the sky, And well the experienced monarch saw In their motion and their form, And heard along the groaning hills, The spirit of the storm.

VII.

And as he look’d, and as he turn’d, He saw a pale-face man-- How quick the leaping blood went through The veins of Powhatan! Changed in an instant was his form, From a feeble man and old, Slow moving in his furry robe, To a warrior stout and bold. His outer cloak was dash’d aside, And left his shoulders bare; No more he heard the whistling wind Or felt the biting air; His buskin’d feet were planted firm, His heavy club swung light, And had a thousand foes been there, He was ready for the fight. That pale-face man came out alone From the moaning woods’ deep shade, And still alone approach’d the lodge, Nor hostile sign display’d; But with a fearless air came up, And with a stately stride, And Powhatan and brave Sir John Were standing side by side. And now within the inner lodge Together they retire, And on the monarch’s furry couch Sit by the glowing fire. No word or look from Powhatan Betray’d his secret thought, Nor deign’d he to inquire what cause His visiter had brought; But sat and look’d him in the face His guest’s deep thoughts to scan, Until Sir John the silence broke, And thus his speech began.

VIII.

‘Great werowance, I come to bring ‘A greeting kind and true ‘From great King James beyond the sea, ‘Who sends good-will to you. ‘He is a king all terrible, ‘With ships and wealth and power, ‘Sufficient to o’erwhelm your tribes ‘And slay them in an hour. ‘Let Manahocks and Manakins ‘And Powhatans combine, ‘They could not stand one day before ‘This mighty king of mine. ‘But yet his love to Powhatan ‘Is brotherly and pure; ‘And as a token that it will ‘Forever warm endure, ‘He sends you rich and royal gifts, ‘A robe of scarlet red, ‘A sparkling crown thick-set with gems, ‘Fit for a monarch’s head, ‘And other presents rich and rare, ‘As you shall see and know, ‘When to be crown’d in solemn form ‘To Jamestown you shall go. ‘He sent them in a mighty ship ‘By a captain of the sea, ‘Who has commission from our king, ‘In company with me, ‘To place the crown upon your head, ‘A deed to great kings done ‘In all the lands beyond the sea ‘To the rising of the sun. ‘And Captain Newport waits to know ‘What day you will be there, ‘That all things for the solemn rite ‘We duly may prepare.’

IX.

Proudly the monarch raised his head, And proudly turn’d his eye Upon the spoils of many wars, And scalps that hung on high; And then his trusty bow and club He haughtily survey’d, And thus with stately air and tone His brief reply he made. ‘If such rare presents have been sent ‘From your great king to me, ‘Remember too, _I am a king_, ‘And all this land you see, ‘And all these woods and groves are mine, ‘And the mighty rivers too, ‘That pour down from the mountain sides ‘And glide these valleys through. ‘And thirty tribes with all their chiefs ‘Their homage pay to me, ‘And fight my battles when I call-- ‘Your captain of the sea ‘Should better know the place he fills: ‘His presents to bestow, ‘He may, when suits him, come to me; ‘_To him I shall not go._’

X.

Sir John knew well the monarch’s pride And firm unbending will, And well he knew ’twere vain to seek His purpose to fulfil; He therefore urged his suit no more, But at the chief’s request, Consented to abide till morn, And in his lodge to rest. And soundly slept Sir John that night Upon his deer-skin bed, With hand upon his broadsword hilt And pistol by his head. And the first red morning ray that came, Bright gleaming o’er the plain, Beheld him on the forest route To Jamestown’s homes again.

XI.

A week of winter storms had pass’d, And brighter days now shone, And Powhatan no longer sat In his winter lodge alone, But in his council-hall appear’d Among his warriors bold; And all his chiefs were gather’d there, A council-talk to hold. And long about those royal gifts They talk’d with solemn air; Gifts from a land beyond the sea, Which only kings might wear; And many questions had been raised, And many doubts remain’d, What secret charm for good or ill Those wondrous gifts contain’d. But ere those doubts were half resolved, While yet the talk went on, One of the outer guard rush’d in, Exclaiming that Sir John And fifty of his pale-face tribe, All marching in a file Across the woods, with shining arms, Were now within a mile Of the council-hall. An instant fire Flash’d from each warrior’s eye, But there was no tumultuous rush, No shout or battle-cry; With knitted brow and silent step Each seized his club and bow, And girded on his scalping-knife; And now in one grim row, A hundred warriors arm’d for death, And led by their great king, Before the council-hall appear, And wait what fate may bring.

XII.

And soon the pale-face men came out, And halted by the wood, Their bright guns gleaming in their hands, Facing the hall they stood, While brave Sir John, like an armed knight, March’d forward and alone, And his errand and his company To Powhatan made known. He told him that his men had come King James’s gifts to bear, And that the captain of the sea Stood with his warriors there; And all things were in readiness, If it pleased his sovereign will, The high behest of great King James In the crowning to fulfil. A sharp glance then the monarch sent To the borders of the wood, And ask’d Sir John to point him out Where that sea-captain stood. And on him long and steadily He fix’d his eagle ken, To learn if that strange captain look’d Like other pale-face men. At last the monarch gave consent For the gifts to be convey’d To the council-hall: but only four Of the armed men should aid The captain and Sir John; the rest Should strictly be compell’d To stay beside the distant wood, While the royal rite was held.

XIII.

And now within the council-hall, And by the monarch’s throne, Around in rich profusion spread, The royal presents shone. There stood Sir John with four arm’d men, And the captain of the sea, But the monarch’s warriors in the hall Were a hundred men and three. The queens of twenty tribes appear, And in their midst they bring Two maidens bright to grace the scene, The daughters of the king. And there in his great dignity Sat Powhatan alone, In the broad circle that was made Around the monarch’s throne; And while his people peer’d and press’d Those splendid gifts to see, He never moved his princely eyes, But kept his dignity. And when Sir John the signal gave For the monarch to come down, And, standing by the throne, receive The robe of state and crown, With motion slow and lofty air He stepp’d upon the floor, And as he pass’d, with careless eye He glanced the presents o’er.

XIV.

Then took Sir John the robe of state And gave it to the king; And now with look of majesty He eyed the curious thing; And felt it o’er and o’er again-- As soft and fine it seems As any beaver’s fur that lives Beside his woodland streams. And much the color fills his eye; A shade so pure and bright, In any work of art before, Had never met his sight. And now the captain and Sir John The robe of state unfold, With outstretch’d arms and lifted hands Aloft the fabric hold; And while the monarch’s noble form They wrap the vesture round, Its many broad and shining folds Sweep gracefully the ground. Stately the monarch walks the hall And turns from side to side, And all his men and warriors stand And look with awe and pride.

XV.

Then Newport lifted up the crown, With sparkling gems that shone, And told the monarch to kneel down With hand upon the throne; For this mysterious, sacred thing Was a type of sovereignty, And all great kings that had been crown’d, Were crown’d on bended knee. A strange look then the monarch gave To the captain of the sea, As though he comprehended not This type of sovereignty; And Newport long confronted him With arguments profound, To make him understand that kings Must kneel when they are crown’d. But still the monarch could not see The force of what he said, And to his labor’d argument He gravely shook his head. His iron knee had never learn’d To any power to bow, And ’twas not all the kings on earth Could make him bend it now. But glancing round upon his men, Unbending still he stood,{23} Upright in native dignity, Like an old oak of the wood. This trouble vex’d exceedingly The captain of the sea, Who tried by every art to gain Some slight bend of the knee, That he on his return might tell King James, and tell him true, That Powhatan unto the crown Had paid the homage due. But all in vain; the more he strove, The firmer stood the king: Example or persuasive skill Could no compliance bring, Till on his shoulders both his hands With gentle force he laid, And pressing forward, thought he saw The monarch bend his head. ‘It is enough,’ the captain said; ‘To bow the head, or knee, ‘With equal honor vindicates ‘The type of sovereignty:’ And then upon that lofty brow He placed the glittering thing, And in King James’s stead pronounced A blessing on the king.

END OF CANTO FIFTH.

CANTO SIXTH.

I.

The warm spring came, and the opening flower On the sloping hill was seen; And summer breathed on the waking woods, And dress’d them in their green; The wild-bird in the branches sung, The wild-deer fed below; Far up the river side appear’d The hunter with his bow; And on the fresh and sunny field, Hard toiling through the day, The weary colonist was out By the groves of Paspahey. Ship after ship came o’er the sea, Laden with fresh supplies, And men by hundreds came to join This new world’s enterprise; And up and down the noble James Were settlements begun, And many an opening in the woods Look’d out upon the sun. The busy tradesman ope’d his store Of goods and wares for sale, And blithely by the barnyard sang The milkmaid with her pail; The stout mechanic in his shop Whistled the hours away, And sturdily his labor plied Through the long summer day. With boding and uneasy mind The thoughtful Indian view’d The fatal signs of English power Spread o’er his solitude; And oft he brooded many a scheme, And much he long’d to see A withering blight or death-blow given To this wide-spreading tree.

II.

At evening sat King Powhatan Beside his daughter fair, To watch the far-off lightning’s flash, And breathe the cooling air: ’ Twas by the door of his summer lodge; His guards stood round in sight, The moon between the flying clouds Sent down a paly light, When Opechancanough arrived, With an air of kingly pride, And greeting great King Powhatan, Sat thoughtful by his side.

III.

‘What tidings, Opechancanough?’ Said the monarch to his guest; ‘Has the tree of these pale-faces spread ‘So wide thou canst not rest? ‘And hast thou come in sadness now ‘To tell thy thoughts to me, ‘And to pray the spirit of yonder fires ‘To blast the pale-face tree?’

IV.

Then spoke Pamunky’s king, and said, With half triumphant mein, ‘True, strongly grows the pale-face tree, ‘Its boughs are fresh and green; ‘But I have found a secret fire, ‘That will at my bidding go, ‘And, creeping through the pale-face tree, ‘Lay its tall branches low. ‘My priest a subtle poison keeps, ‘From deadly weeds distill’d; ‘A single drop, where the red-deer feeds, ‘A red-deer oft has kill’d. ‘Rich venison and wild fowls, imbued ‘With this dark drug, have gone ‘To feed the famish’d pale-face foe, ‘A present to Sir John. ‘And ere to-morrow’s noonday hour ‘They’ll droop, and fade, and die, ‘And strew the ground, like autumn leaves ‘When the storm-god passes by. ‘The breeze all day across the land ‘Shall bear their dying groans, ‘And the river-god shall many a year ‘Behold their whitening bones.’

V.

He paused and look’d at Powhatan For some approving word; But a bitter sigh from Metoka Was the only sound he heard. ‘If it is done, then be it so,’ The monarch said, at last; ‘Though rather would I see them fall ‘By the spirit’s lightning blast; ‘Or that our arms in open fight ‘Might hurl the deadly blow, ‘And show them Powhatan has power ‘To conquer any foe. ‘But if the deed is done, ’tis well-- ‘The agent or the hour ‘We will not question, if it serve ‘To crush their growing power. ‘Come, let us to the lodge retire; ‘Thou’lt rest with us to-night: ‘The clouds rise dark; the lightning fires ‘Flash with a fiercer light.’ Now sitting in the lodge, they talk Of their mighty pale-face foe: Pamunky broods with secret joy Upon the impending blow; But Powhatan walks up and down With sadness in his eye; For though it was his settled will The pale-face foe should die, Yet still he feels ’ twould better suit His prowess and his pride, If warriors’ arms in the battle-field The deadly strife had tried.

VI.

And now all silent in the lodge, The chiefs are both at rest; But, oh! what wild and harrowing thoughts Fair Metoka oppress’d. She loved her sire, she loved his land: She loved them as her life-- What feeling in her heart is now With that pure love at strife? ’ Tis pity, pleading for the lives Of those who soon must fall-- It pleadeth with an angel’s voice, And loud as a trumpet-call. Mayhap another feeling too Its secret influence wrought In her pure heart; but if ’ twere so, She understood it not-- But true it was, that since Sir John First pass’d before her sight, _Something_ was twining round her heart; She felt it day and night. Her heart is sad, her bosom bleeds For the cruel fate of those, In whom she knows no crime or fault, Nor can she deem them foes. Alone and restless she looks out Upon the fearful night; The warring elements are there, The lightning fires gleam bright; She hears the muttering thunders growl Along the distant hills, And many a pause the thunders make The wolves’ wild howling fills. The awful clouds roll high and dark, The winds have a roaring, sound, The branches from stout trees are torn And hurl’d upon the ground; And now the rain in torrents falls-- How her feeble limbs do shake! Such gloom without, such grief within, Her young heart sure must break.

VII.

But Jamestown’s death-devoted sons In conscious safety rest; The natives, months before, had ceased The pale-face to molest; Pamunky’s rich and generous gift Their confidence increased, And on the morrow all would share In joyfulness their feast. ’ Tis now the darkest midnight hour, But yet Sir John sleeps not-- He listeth to the storm without; The rain beats down like shot Against the wall and on the roof; The wind is strong and high, And bellowing thunders burst and roll Athwart the troubled sky. A moment’s pause--what sound is that? A light tap at the door-- Can mortal be abroad to-night? That feeble tap once more-- He opes the door; his dim light falls Upon a slender form-- The monarch’s daughter standeth there, Like a spirit of the storm! Through dark wild woods, in that fearful night, She had peril’d life and limb, And suffer’d all but death to bring Safety and life to him. And now, her object gain’d, she turns In haste her home to seek-- Sir John such strong emotion feels, At first he scarce can speak: But soon he urged her, while the storm Was raging, to remain; But she with earnestness replied, ‘I must not heed the rain.’ ‘But the night is dark, the way is rough, ‘Till morning you must stay--’ With tears she said, ‘I _must_ return ‘Before the break of day.’ ‘Then I will go with a file of men ‘To guard you on your way--’ But still her eyes with tears were fill’d, And still she answer’d nay-- ‘Through woods and rain to my father’s lodge ‘I must return alone, ‘And never must my father know ‘The errand I have done.’ And away she flew from the cottage door, To the forest wild again: Sir John upon the darkness look’d, And listen’d to the rain; And still he look’d where the pathway lay Across the distant field, Until the lightning’s sudden flash Her flying form reveal’d; And still with sad and anxious thought And moveless eyes he stood, Till he saw her by another flash Enter the midnight wood.{24}

VIII.

Day came and went--another pass’d-- And now a week has gone-- The dark-brow’d chiefs are puzzled much, That the pale-face men live on. Early and late had Powhatan Been out on the calm hill-side, But on the air no death-wail came At morn or eventide: And when his spies, returning home From Jamestown day by day, Told him the pale-face tree was green, Nor blight upon it lay, The doubting monarch shook his head, And on his daughter cast A look more chilling to her heart Than winter’s dreary blast. But not a word the monarch spoke; His thought he never told; Though she could often in his eye That dreadful glance behold. And though in all his troubled hours To give him peace she strove, And though she tried all tender ways To touch his heart with love; And though sometimes he smiled on her, As once he used to smile, Yet in his eye that cheerless look Was lurking all the while; And Metoka for many a day His lost love did deplore, And felt that her sweet peace of mind Was gone forevermore. Lonely and sad one day she sat In her bower beside the spring, When coming from the woods she saw Approach Pamunky’s king. He was her uncle, and though rough To others he might prove, To Metoka he nought had shown But tenderness and love. Then with a sad confiding look She towards Pamunky ran, Who told her he had come to bring Great news to Powhatan; And straightway to the council-hall He led her by the hand, Where chiefs and warriors eagerly Around the monarch stand, In deep debate, devising means To crush the pale-face race; But all, when came Pamunky’s king, Stood back to give him place.

IX.